


Let's Kill Tonight

by Harleydoll



Series: Crossroads [3]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood Kink, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Demon Deals, Demons, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Hell, M/M, Mutants, Protective Erik, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Trauma, X-Men References, X-Men: First Class (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:13:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harleydoll/pseuds/Harleydoll
Summary: We'll paint the future black if it needs a colour.
Relationships: Emma Frost & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Crossroads [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/811374
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Let's Kill Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Probably the final installation of this one for now, but we'll see!

**Prologue: Year 34**

“Close your eyes.” Charles slid into Erik's lap and touched two fingers to his temples. He didn't need the physical contact, but it did help him focus, and this task was best completed without distraction. It wasn't about taking what he wanted, but giving something back. “Calm your mind.” 

Erik didn't answer, but his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as Charles entered his mind, skimming past surface thoughts, recent memories, crossroads deals and due dates until he found what he was looking for. There was a door (it was always a door; the simplest solution was always the most effective), hidden in the shadows, its gleaming black surface shrouded in darkness. It wasn't meant to be noticed, and even as Charles approached, the door seemed to fade in and out of his awareness as though trying to convince him it didn't exist. 

When Charles stepped through to the other side, it disappeared behind him, leaving him standing on a muddy gravel road, rain pouring down and soaking through his clothing. Water slid down his bare head, falling into his eyes and temporarily blinding him until he wiped it away with his sweater sleeve and materialized an umbrella into his hand. 

This was a memory long since past – the 1940s, maybe? Charles had never been any good with the concept of time. Shades of people long dead, whose faces Erik never remembered, passed around and through him, nudged onward by soldiers bearing symbols that made Charles cringe with disgust. He'd tortured his fair share of neo-Nazis and hatemongers in Hell, but their memories has always left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“No! Mama!” A young boy's scream cut through the air and Charles perked up, scanning the crowd for its source. There, at the gates – a man an a woman wrapped in tattered blankets being taken away to the camps beyond, separated from their child. The boy, perhaps twelve years old, reached out to them in anguish, screaming for his mother. His feet lost traction in the ground and he slipped, a sob catching in his throat. Behind him, a soldier hauled him to his feet, dragging him away even as he thrust out his hands in some last, desperately instinctual gesture. 

The corner of Charles' mouth twitched as the metal gates groaned and bent outwards, nearly folding themselves in half under Erik's command. The soldier, eye wide in astonishment, momentarily released his charge, and Charles took the opportunity to grab Erik by the wrist and yank him under the umbrella. Around them, the memory carried on as though Erik were still present, the bewildered soldier apprehending empty air while the boy stared up at Charles, drenched and breathless. 

“Who—who are you? What is this?” 

Charles only grinned, baring his teeth at the boy. “It's your lucky day. I'm breaking you out.” 

“B-but my parents—Mama--” 

Charles rolled his eyes. “They're long dead. I need you to remember. Well, not you, another you. The one whose head you've been trapped in.” 

Erik swallowed, shaking his head. “I don't understand.” 

“Look,” Charles tightened his grip on the boy's arm. “I wasn't made for this. I'm supposed to hurt, not heal. But here I am, in your head, trying to piece you back together because you're the only person I actually care about. So once again, I need you to remember. What happened after this? Where did they take you?” 

“I don't...” 

Charles followed Erik's wandering gaze up to a fifth floor window belonging to a building past the camp gates, its facade as grey as everything else in this rain-soaked memory. 

“Perfect.” Charles dematerialized them both, and then the pair was standing in a sterile looking office, its desk occupied, unsurprisingly, by one Sebastian--

“Schmidt,” Erik shrank back against the glass panes lining the adjacent wall, and Charles raised an eyebrow. 

“Schmidt,” he repeated. “Really.” 

Erik nodded meekly. “He said...he told me...” 

Schmidt raised his head and smiled at Erik with false warmth. “I'm going to count to three, and you're going to move the coin.” 

Erik straightened and stepped towards the desk, fulfilling his place in the memory, and reached a shaking hand out to the coin on the desk. Behind him, two soldiers held onto Erik's mother, who was murmuring something in German that Charles didn't understand. 

“He counted.” Erik's voice was barely above a whisper.

“One.” 

“And I tried.” 

“Two.” 

“I couldn't save her--” 

“Three.” 

The gunshot rang out, too loud in the small office, and Erik's mother slumped between the two soldiers, blood flowing freely from the gaping hole between her eyes. 

“And then...” Erik's eyes filled with tears and he turned to the glass panes that divided Schmidt's office in two. “He saw what I could do, and he never let me go. Not even in death.” 

Erik raised his arms, and the room beyond the glass filled with swirling metal – weapons, writing utensils, filing cabinet drawers, all colliding in a perfectly contained storm. 

“Erik.” Charles grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. “You have to stop. You have to focus.” He laughed. “Isn't this ironic? It's usually the other way around.” 

Erik struggled in his grip, but Charles held fast. “Listen, this was what, decades ago? A century? He can't hurt you anymore. We made sure of that, remember? Calm. Your. Mind.” 

Erik froze and looked at Charles, really looked at him, as though seeing him for the first time. “Charles?” 

“Yes. Good. We're getting somewhere.” Beside them, everything that Erik had sent flying clattered noisily to the floor, and Charles released him with a sigh. “Now take that coin and walk through there--” he pointed at the office door-- “and we can all get out of here before I lose what little self control I have left.” 

Erik obeyed, picking up the coin before the approached the door, but paused just as his fingers grazed the doorknob. “What happens to me? You know, after this?” 

“That's the best part,” Charles replied, lips curving into a smile. “You're free. You can do anything you want.” 

Erik took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and glanced at Charles one more time, who nodded encouragingly. When he opened the door, Charles followed close behind, ready to nudge him in the right direction, but Erik was no longer hesitant. Together, they left the remnants of the memory and walked through to the other side. 

Back in his own head, Charles blinked and dropped his hands to his lap. “Well?” 

Erik's brow furrowed. “I...I remember.” 

“Good.” Charles stood and pulled Erik to his feet. “Time for a test drive.” 

Erik flexed his fingers and looked around. The rooftop was fenced in with an iron railing, a recent addition with the renovations. He almost felt guilty for tearing it up, screws flying, that long forgotten, yet familiar, call of the metal resonating in his blood. This was different from the crossroads; it wasn't an outward pull, but a deep seated need to be connected to the world around him. He was innately aware of exactly where every lost screw fell, of the metal appliances in the apartments beneath him, of every single car trapped in the teeming traffic below, of the zipper and rivets in Charles' dark blue jeans. When had he taken to wearing jeans? Clothing just appeared in their shared closet, and at this point, Erik had stopped questioning it.

He refocused on the railing, still hovering in the air before him, and reshaped it first into an amorphous blob, and then into a large, predatory cat, which he sent padding up to Charles' side. 

“Cute,” Charles, commented, scratching the cat's head between its ears as it nuzzled against his thigh. “What else can you do?” 

Erik grinned, teeth sharp and gleaming. “Let's find out.” 

~

 **Year 48**

Charles had nearly forgotten about the deal. It had been ten years, after all. So when Erik arrived to pick him up, saying it was time to collect the Braddock woman, Charles tilted his head, thinking, before asking, “who?” 

“The telepath that returned your memories,” Erik explained, only a little impatient. “You know, the one you asked me to make a deal with?” 

“Right. I definitely remember that happening.” 

Erik narrowed his eyes. “Do you?” 

“Of course,” Charles looped his arm through Erik's as he spoke. “Sort of. I'm sure it's in there somewhere. Can we go now?” 

They materialized into a familiar, oak panelled hallway, and Charles looked around, confused. “Are we in my house?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Because she's still an X-Man.” 

“Who?” 

Erik took Charles' face in his hands. “Charles. We've been over this. We're going into that bedroom behind me, and then I'm going to rip out Elizabeth Braddock's heart.” 

Charles lit up, something finally clicking in his fragmented mind. “Oh! Can I do it? I haven't done one in ages, and I did make the deal. Technically.” 

Erik released him, considered. “I suppose there's no harm in--” 

“Brilliant!” he sidestepped Erik and entered the bedroom, ignoring Erik's protests to slow down. The woman—Psylocke, Charles remembered, was the name she used here, was waiting inside, seated on the edge of the bed with her hands folded into her lap. 

“I've been expecting you. Both of you.” She was in a different uniform this time, a long sleeved, lilac bodysuit instead of her usual darker choices. “It's ten years, almost to the minute, isn't it?” 

Erik nodded “There won't be any coming back this time.” 

“Oh, I don't know,” Psylocke mused. “We X-Men tend to be quite resilient. And Charles here seems to be doing alright.” 

“I'm fantastic.” Charles raised a hand, nails fully elongated into razor sharp claws. “I'm the one who gets to kill you.” He crossed the room in three strides and thrust his hand into her chest, reaching up between her ribs until his fingers closed around her heart. A wet, strangled sound escaped Psylocke's throat, blood bubbling up between her parted lips. 

“Give Emma my regards.” Charles turned around, heart in hand, and offered it up to Erik. “Huh. Deja vu.” He sucked on his fingertips, humming with delight at the taste of fresh blood while he watched Erik eat. “I've murdered a few of yours before, haven't I?” 

“You know you have,” Erik frowned. “You said earlier you hadn't done one in ages.” 

Charles blinked, fingers poised at his lips. “Did I?” 

Erik tossed the remains of the heart onto the bed next to its owner's unmoving body. “Your memory seems spottier than usual, Charles. Should I be concerned?”

Charles shrugged and brought his arms up over Erik's shoulder's fingers loosely linked at the base of his neck. He'd retracted his claws, only the soft pads of his fingertips grazing Erik's skin. “It's been what, a few decades in your time? And far more than that for me. It's easier to store the older memories and keep what's important on the surface. Like you,” Charles kissed Erik's bloodstained lips. “And us.” Another kiss. “And the stars.” One last kiss, as though to emphasize his point. 

“But you fought for those memories.” 

“And I still have them. I just...put them away for now. For safekeeping. Is that so wrong?” 

The remains of Psylocke's heart dropped from Erik's fingers to the floor with a muted thump, and he wrapped his arms around Charles' waist to draw him closer. “As long as you're not drifting away on me again.” 

“Of course not.” He nuzzled up against Erik's throat. “Home?” 

“Home.” 

~

**Year 50**

Charles was restless. He'd circled the perimeter of his room three times, and no one had sent him a new soul yet. The last one had been so boring that Charles broke him more quickly than usual, leaving him nothing but a useless, comatose vegetable in a matter of minutes. 

“Hello up there,” Charles called at the ceiling. “Trick or treat, bring me something good to eat!”

As if on cue, a door materialized a few feet from where Charles was standing, and a Cuckoo entered, poised and placid as always. “Ms. Frost would like to see you in her office.” 

Charles rolled his eyes. “And she sent one of you lot to come and get me? Have I been bad?”

The Cuckoo pivoted on her heel without deigning to respond, clearly expecting Charles to follow. He trailed behind her all the way to a row of gleaming, silver elevators and raised an eyebrow at her, bemused. 

“Can't we just, you know, poof! And we're there?” 

The Cuckoo's eyes faded into a milky, unfocused white, apparently receiving instruction from elsewhere. 

“That's fine, you just carry on your psychic conversation with your creepy clone sisters instead of answering me. I could peek, you know, but your collective consciousness is the last place I'd want to be.” Charles crossed his arms, impatient. “Is this thing coming, or what?” 

The light above one of the elevators pinged on and the doors slid open, revealing a sleek, mirrored car as pristine as the endless white hallway they'd just left. Thankfully, the ride wasn't long, and the Cuckoo faithfully deposited Charles in Emma's office with a brisk nod before disappearing. 

“Hello, Charles.” Emma was seated primly at her desk, the scene almost identical to Charles' initial arrival in Hell. The only difference, Charles noticed, was that it wasn't his file open before her. “Please, have a seat.” 

Charles complied, settling feet first into a crouching position in the chair. “Have I done something wrong?” 

Emma frowned, brow creasing almost imperceptibly. “Why would you think that?” 

“This feels a lot like a trip to the principal's office.” He gave a small shrug. “Besides, you only want to see me when I've been bad. Like with Kurt.” 

“Kurt Marko was...a clerical error. One that my department has taken full responsibility for.” She offered him a thin smile. “Anyway, that's not why you're here.” 

“Am I expected to guess, or...” 

Emma spun the file on the desk around to face him. “Do you remember her?” 

Charles made a show of examining the purple haired woman in the photo. “Pretty sure I ripped out her heart.” 

“You convinced Erik to make her a deal, and then you called it in,” Emma clarified, snapping the file shut. “It was quite unprecedented.” 

“Oh, I see,” he mused. “I broke the rules. Strayed from my assigned position.” He used finger quotes for emphasis. “Are you giving me a time out?” 

“On the contrary. I'm giving you a promotion.” 

Charles thumped down in the chair, bare feet slapping the floor. “You're not serious.” 

“Management wants you on crossroads duty. Specifically, recruitment.” She leaned forward and laced her fingers over the file. “The Braddock girl is the best telepath we've had since, well, you, and they want more.” 

Charles stared at her for a beat, then burst out laughing. “I traded years for memories. That's it. I'm no crossroads demon. Not to mention I have literally no concept of time.” He recovered himself, wiping away a stray tear. “Besides, I need to eat, you know that. Down here, where I can tear into souls at my leisure.” 

“Oh, believe me, you'll still have plenty of souls at your disposal,” Emma replied. “You're the best I've got, after all. This is really more of a contract renegotiation.” 

“I'm listening.” 

“8 months above, 4 below, in standard time. That's more time with your precious Erik, and to find us some quality psychics.” 

“Mm. Erik would love that.” 

“And you?” 

Charles chuckled softly. “I don't suppose I have any choice in the matter.” 

Emma slid a piece of paper across the desk, new contract already laid out. “It's for the best, sugar.”

He dug the sharp, clawed nail of his forefinger into his thumb and pressed the bloodstained tip onto the page. “Whatever you say. It's only eternity, right?” 

It was only after the Cuckoo returned Charles to his room, Emma watching him telepathically was he tore into the soul that awaited him, that she allowed herself to relax. It had been her idea to give Charles more freedom, and she'd been shocked, but relieved, when head office agreed. She could only hope that it would be enough to save him. 

~

Erik entered Charles' sanctum warily, maintaining distance between them in order to ascertain Charles' current state of mind. Last year, he'd nearly ripped Erik's throat out, and the year before, his memory loss had made him increasingly unpredictable. Now, Charles was crouched over a crumpled mess of a human soul, the panels lining his domed walls playing clips of broken memories. They were Charles' favourite kind, Erik noticed, murders with no reason or remorse, just pure bloodshed for its own sake. He waited until the last image flickered out and Charles rose to his feet, cracking his neck and stretching his arms, to speak. 

“Charles.” 

He stiffened at the sound of his name and slowly turned to face Erik, expression unreadable. The silence stretched out between them, Charles appraising him with coal black eyes, until Erik crossed the room and put a hand on Charles' shoulder. 

“Charles,” he repeated, his voice low but firm. “It's time to go.” 

Charles blinked, once, twice, considering. “I was supposed to tell you something. Oh! Eight above, four below,” he recited, clearly proud of himself for remembering. Unfortunately, Erik had no idea what that meant, and he told him as much. 

“I'm on crossroads now. With you!” He took Erik's hands in his own, his smile at once innocent and predatory. “And also this, still. But Emma wants more telepaths, like Psylocke, so I've got extra time up top to find them.” 

Eight months above, then. He could work with that. Erik grinned and drew Charles in for a deep, crushing kiss. “Happy anniversary to us then, eh?” 

“Anniversary?” 

“It's fifty years since I took your heart.” 

“Both literally and figuratively,” Charles quipped slyly. “Are we celebrating? WE should do champagne. I've never had champagne before.” 

“You don't remember?” Erik asked in surprise. That was one of Charles' favourite memories. “We popped a bottle over your headstone for our twentieth.” 

“I...” Charles frowned, lost in thought. “I would have kept that one. Where did it go?” 

“Hey.” Erik took Charles' chin between thumb and forefinger. “I'm sure you'll find it. For now, let's go make some new memories, alright?” 

Charles only nodded mutely, still shaken, and in truth, so was Erik. Charles' mind had never been entirely reliable since his death, but he had been more forgetful than usual over the past couple of years. Perhaps a little extra time away from Hell would change that. 

Back on their usual rooftop, Erik slipped a hand in his pocket, fingers closing around the items within. “I have something for you.” 

“A present? For me?” Charles rocked back on his heels, watching Erik open his fist to reveal two smooth, seamless metal rings.

“Gold would have been more traditional, but I do better with steel.” 

“You made these?” The rings circled each other in slow motion, hovering just above Erik's palm, until Erik took Charles' hand and slid one onto his third finger. 

“With your new contract, we won't be apart as often, but it still feels right to have something tangible connecting us, something to help you...” 

“Remember,” Charles finished, eyes dropping to the ground. “You think I'm getting worse.” 

“I don't want to lose you,” Erik said quietly. “And I know this isn't much, but it's something.” 

Charles plucked the second ring from the air and slid it onto Erik's finger. “You'll have to teach me this.” 

“What?” 

Charles gestured vaguely around the space the rings had occupied. “You know, whatever demonic telekinesis you used to pull this off.” 

Erik only stared at him. “Charles, I'm a mutant. I can control metal, you know that.” 

“I thought Shaw locked your powers away. Wasn't I supposed to fix that?” 

“You did.” 

“Oh. _Oh._.” Charles bit his lip. “I think we should open that bottle of champagne now.” 

“Charles--” 

“Stop it,” he interrupted. “Stop saying my name like it means something, like you think you can save me. I realize I'm broken inside, but can't you just, for one night, stop trying to pick up the pieces?” 

Erik took Charles' hand and brought his knuckles to his lips. “Alright. But we're going to figure this out.” 

“Not right now, though. Tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow,” Erik agreed softly.” 

Charles brightened, shoulders relaxing. “Good. Champagne. Stars. And then we should go someplace.” 

“Like where?” 

“I don't know. Anywhere. I'm hungry.” 

“You're always hungry.” 

~

The mansion was alive and bustling when Charles and Erik materialized into the front foyer. Children and teens rushed to and from class, brushing past the pair with murmured apologies as they went. Charles didn't recognize any off their faces, but it had been five decades, and this school was an ever revolving door of new students. He wasn't even sure who was still on staff, or what the team roster looked like, but odds were always pretty good that there would be a telepath around. 

Sure enough, a young redheaded woman was descending the main staircase, her bright green eyes and long crimson coat at once familiar and not to Charles. What really struck him about her, however, was the jagged line of tattoos along the curvature of her jaw, like sharp, wolfish teeth. 

“Always good to see you, Jean,” Charles greeted her. “And in the land of the living, for once.” 

She frowned at him, and he felt her sneaking around the corners of his mind, searching for clarity. “You're thinking of my mother, who is in fact, no longer with us. Again.” 

“Your mother,” Charles repeated, trying, and failing, to compute exactly how much time had passed. “Things really have changed. But you have her power.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you know who I am.” He tapped his temple with one pointed nail. “You're creeping around in there. Whatever are you looking for?” 

“I want to know if you're really him.” 

Charles sketched a bow. “The one and only.” 

The woman—Rachel, Charles corrected himself, lifting her name from her mind with ease, folded her arms across her chest. “Rumour has it you sold your soul for this place.” 

“I did.” He jerked his head towards Erik, who was watching them both intently. “To him.” 

Rachel glanced from Charles, to Erik, and back again. “Let's take this conversation to my office.” 

~

Charles didn't like having other people in his head. It was his space, and he'd do with it what he pleased. But he needed to know where his memories were going, and he needed Erik to stop looking at him like he might internally combust at any moment, so he allowed Rachel to rummage around in his mind. 

“You didn't lose them,” she said aloud, eyes still closed. “It looks like you hid them away to keep them safe. What do these numbers mean?” 

Charles closed his eyes as well, focusing on the constellation patterns she'd found in the dark recesses of his consciousness. Each star was labelled with a translucent, floating number, a footnote denoting...

“Years,” Charles breathed, incredulous. “Each of the stars is a year.” 

“So you locked these memories away, and what? Forgot about them?” 

Charles shook his head. “I don't know. I suppose I must have, but why? What was I hiding them from?” 

Rachel sat back in her chair, extracting herself from his mind. 'The better question is, who?” When Charles gave her a blank look, she sighed. “In my experience, no one goes to that much trouble to hide something unless someone is after them.”

“If someone's been in my head without my knowledge, I'm going to make them regret it.” 

“We could help, you know. The X-Men.” Rachel steepled her fingers together. “Why don't you stick around for awhile?” 

Charles stood and glanced towards the door, sending a wordless wave of reassurance to Erik on the other side. “It's better that I don't. But hey, if you're interested in selling your soul, I'd be happy to claim it. My boss would love you.” 

She held up a hand, mouth quirking up in wry amusement. “No, thanks. We X-Men don't get a lot of time as it is.” 

Charles shrugged. “Your loss.” 

When he emerged from the office, Erik straightened from where he'd been leaning, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. “Well?” 

Charles met Erik's inquiring gaze, uncertain. There was someone after him, he knew that much, and there was a chance that by telling Erik, he was making a target out of them both. Part of him wanted to protect Erik, but he truly was a selfish creature, and the thought of facing this alone filled him with dread. 

“We found my memories.” 

“So you've got them back?” 

“No.” Charles looked away, chewing his lower lip. “Someone's been in my head, and whoever it was is still out there. I think...I think it's better if they stay locked away for now.” 

Erik's expression darkened. “What do you mean? Is Emma doing something to you?” 

“No, I know what she feels like. Her telepathy is ice in my veins, nails scritch scratching in my mind for attention.” He wrapped his arms around himself, shoulders turned inward. “This is just...nothing. Literally. No trace of tampering, no psychic residue. I'm scared, Erik.” 

Startled, Erik recovered himself to draw Charles into his arms, holding him close. Around them, a few passersby sent curious glances their way, but Erik shut them down with a sidelong glare. 

“I've got you,” he murmured in Charles' ear. “We'll figure this out.” 

“I've never been afraid like this before,” Charles admitted quietly. “Not since Kurt, anyway. Not since I was alive, and I don't like it.” He felt Erik tense against him, that familiar internal alarm going off once more. “Time to collect?” When Erik nodded, Charles mustered a feral grin. “Good.” 

~

**Year 52**

Charles was on the floor staring vacantly at the ceiling, limbs askew, when Erik arrived to pick him up. This wasn't unusual; Charles tended to gaze up at the stars of his memories to ground himself, and Erik didn't think anything of it until he noticed that there weren't actually any stars above their heads. 

“Charles?” 

No response. 

“Charles, it's me. It's Erik.” He materialized to Charles' side and sank to his knees, lifting Charles' motionless body into his lap. “Talk to me, love. Tell me you're in there.” 

Charles' eyes were a flat, matte black, devoid of their usual lustre. He lay limp and unblinking in Erik's arms, unresponsive while Erik stroked his cheek, begging him to wake up. Finally, Erik drew his attention upwards. 

“Emma, I know you can hear me. Get the hell down here right now, or so help me I will rip your cold dead heart from your chest.” 

Emma materialized almost immediately, buttoning her bone white blazer as she spoke. “Will yo cut the theatrics, I'm right---Oh. Oh, no.” She crouched down to examine Charles' prone form, balancing her weight on pointed heels. “She shouldn't have drained him. She should know better.” 

“Who?” Erik snarled. 

“Who do you think? Selene.” 

“Shaw's old lackey?” 

“She's a 17,000 year old immortal, sustained by the hearts and minds of her fellow mutants,” Emma retorted. “But sure she's Shaw's old lackey.” 

“You knew, and you did nothing?” his grip tightened around his unconscious lover. “You're supposed to take care of him!” 

Emma drew herself up to her full height, hands on her hips. “She's far older and more powerful than I am, and there was nothing I could do to stop her taking a liking to my telepaths. Such a shame, really,” she sighed. “Charles is the best I've had in centuries.” 

Erik shook his head. “No, I'm not losing him. You have to get me into his head.” 

“There's nothing left, sugar. He's just a husk now. She's been feeding on him for years. Why do you think I pushed for his crossroads assignment?” Before Erik could protest, she held up a hand. “But if it'll get you out of my hair, I'll do it.” 

She closed her eyes and Erik found himself yanked unceremoniously into a black, featureless void. “See? Nothing here. Let's go.” 

“Leave if you want.” He glowered at her, fists clenched at his sides. “I'm not going anywhere without him.” 

Emma tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled thinly. “Your funeral.” And then she was gone, leaving Erik alone in the void of Charles' mind. 

“Come on, Charles, help me find you,” he scanned the surrounding space for some defining landmark, and, finding none, hose a direction at random to start walking. “You're stronger than she thins. I know you're here.” He paused, something glinting in his peripheral vision. 

“Charles?” He pivoted and made his way towards a tiny pinprick of light in the distance. As he approached, he found that it wasn't a light at all, but Charles himself, his too pale, nearly translucent skin carving out a stark silhouette in the darkness. The sight of him curled into himself, eyes and fists squeezed shut, was all Erik needed to break into a run and drop to Charles's side. 

“Charles.” The name was a mantra now, meant to anchor and focus its owner. “Charles, I'm here. I need you to come home.” 

He slowly cracked open on eye, just as dull and lifeless as that of his physical form, and then the other. “Can't,” he whispered. “Have to hide.” 

“You don't have to hide anymore.” Erik reached for him, but Charles flinched away.

“She'll find them. Find me.” 

“Selene's long gone.” A lie, perhaps. Erik had no idea where she was right now. “I'll take care of you.” 

“Erik...” Charles opened his hands just a little, just enough for Erik to glimpse the glittering stars within. “I saved them. Most of them. But she took so much of me and I can't...I can't.” 

“I know. It's alright.” Erik reached for him again, and this time he let Eirk gather him ito an embrace, fingers closing around his remaining stars. 

“Take me home.” 

“I can't.” 

Charles stiffened. “Why not?” 

“Emma left me stranded here. You're the only one who can get us out now.” 

He was silent for a long time, and then his expression hardened. “Fine.” 

Erik jolted awake, squinting against the sudden brightness, the stark white walls an unwelcome change from the darkness of Charles' mind. Charles didn't seem to notice, his eyes still dull and unfocused even as he gripped Erik's wrist tightly enough to draw blood. 

“Now take me home,” he repeated, throat dry and rasping. 

Erik materialized them both out of Hell, reforming outside a door that definitely did not belong to their apartment. 

“What...is this.” Charles pried himself from Erik's grasp, bare feet hitting concrete steps, and wavered, vision blurring, before grabbing on to Erik's arm for support. 

“You're weak, Charles. You need to feed.” 

“Mm. Starving.” 

“Exactly.” Before Erik could knock, the door opened to reveal a pretty young woman in a french maid uniform. 

“My lord,” she offered Erik a brief curtsy. 

Erik only waved his hand dismissively. “Save it. I need to see Azazel.” After years of refusal, Erik had finally accepted an Inner Circle title at Azazel's behest, but he had no patience for all of this court etiquette nonsense. 

The maid nodded and stood aside for them to enter. “Please wait here a moment, my lord.” 

Erik rolled his eyes as she left, and a minute or two later, Azazel teleported into the foyer, red smoke dissipating around him. He narrowed his eyes at Charles, who was resting his forehead against Erik's shoulder. 

“Rough night?” 

“Selene's been feeding on him.” 

“And he survived?” Azazel snapped his fingers, and two more demons in matching black suits materialized at the bottom of the main staircase. “Have a few of our...guests sent up to the White King's suite. Three, I think, to start.” 

The pair nodded in unison and dematerialized once more, presumably to carry out Azazel's command. “That should do for now,” he mused, stepping forward to examine Charles more closely. “She really did a number on you, hmm?” 

Charles eyed him tiredly, but said nothing. 

“He'll be fine,” Erik retorted, giving Charles' hand a light squeeze. 

“Of course he will. The Hellfire Club takes care of its own.” Azazel straightened and gestured to the staircase. “I trust you can find your own way.” 

Erik nodded and materialized them into a suite as big as his entire apartment, plush and luxurious. It was populated by a massive king sized bed, a pair of wing back chairs, a chess board set up between them, and a large fireplace that had already been tended to and now bathed the room in a warm, orange glow. 

There were already three humans in expensive formal wear waiting by the far wall, silent and deliberately looking anywhere but at Erik as he helped Charles sink down onto the bed. 

“You should go,” Charles said hoarsely. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Just....for now. I'm so hungry, Erik.” 

“I know. That's why we're here.” 

“No, I...” Charles lifted his head to meet Erik's eyes. “I'm _too_ hungry. I don't think I can...I don't...” 

“You don't think you'll be able to stop once you get started.” 

Charles nodded weakly.

“Okay.” Erik backed away from him, tapping two fingers to his temple as he exited the room. “But if you need me, call me.” 

Another nod, and then Erik was shutting the door behind him, muffled screams already sounding from the other side. Everything was fine, he thought too himself, as he started to pace the long, red carpeted hallway. Charles was going to be just fine.

~

Erik had only stepped out for a few minutes, when he'd grown tired of pacing and ignoring the call of the crossroads and decided that perhaps one quick soul collection while Charles was preoccupied couldn't hurt. Azazel, however, did not share the same sentiment. 

“You can't leave me alone with him, you know that! You're the only one who can control him!” 

Erik only smirked. “It's cute that you really believe that's true. What's he done now?” 

“He's already ripped through seven of my guests. Seven!” Azazel gesticulated nonsensically as he spoke. “And when I merely suggested he slow down a little, he ate two of my pawns!”

Erik's smile widened. “Sounds like he's feeling better.”

Azazel groaned. “Yes, wonderful, everyone's favourite telepathic murder machine is back on his feet. Now will you kindly inform him that my staff are not on the menu?” 

“If you insist.” Erik retreated upstairs to the bedroom suite, knocking lightly before entering. “Just me. I hear you've been--” he paused, taking in the carnage before him. Bodies were haphazardly strewn about, some physically whole and untouched, others in various pieces, and now Erik understood why everything in this place, because there was blood literally everywhere. Dripping down the walls, spattering the furniture, soaking into the carpets, and Charles was in the middle of it all, crouched over what was left of Azazel's demons. 

“--busy,” Erik finished belatedly.

“Oh, you're back!” Charles grinned at him, teeth stained red, and bounced up onto his feet. “Here,” he said, holding out a fresh, still bleeding heart. “I saved some for you.” 

“Thanks, but I just collected. This one's all yours.” 

“I'd say I admire your restraint, but I'd be lying.” Charles tossed the heart onto the bed and tugged Erik down by the collar of his shirt for a deep, sensuous kiss. “I missed you.” 

“It's good to see you feeling better.” 

“I feel amazing.” The words were a breath against Erik's lips, bloody fingers tracing Erik's jawline as if Charles were memorizing it all over again. “Demons taste different from humans, did you know that? There's something so sickly sweet about their blood, like a strawberry on the cusp of rotting. Their minds, on the other hand....” Charles glanced down at the mess of limbs on the floor. “Leave something to be desired.” 

“Azazel doesn't want you murdering the hel—mm.” Charles cut him off midsentence, sliding to fingers into Erik's mouth, And Erik had to admit that Charles was right. The taste of blood on his tongue was rather intoxicating, but it could also have something to do with the way Charles pressed against him, their bodies seamlessly fitting together the way they always had. 

“Can you really blame me for wanting more of this?”

Erik sucked his lover's fingers dry and reclaimed Charles' mouth with his own, hands tightening around Charles' hips. “I want more of you.” 

“Then let's go home. For real this time. I want you in our bed, not this one.” 

“That can be arranged.” Erik paused. “Have you put your memories back yet?” 

Charles undid the first three buttons of Erik's shirt as he answered. “A few. The rest can wait.” 

He dipped his head forward, teeth grazing the newly exposed skin, and Erik arched against him in response. 

_I remember the taste of you on my tongue._ Charles bit down just above Erik's collarbone, drawing a trickle of fresh blood, and Erik moaned low in his throat, nails elongating and digging into Charles' back through his t-shirt. 

_I remember how you like to be touched._ His hand slid lower, fingers dipping below the belt to locate Erik's growing arousal. 

_And I remember the first time you let me inside of you._

Erik cupped the back of Charles' neck and kissed him hungrily, the warm, metallic tang of his own blood filling his mouth as he nipped at Charles' lower lip. The room around them melted away, and Charles lay back on their own, corpse free bed, tugging Erik down over him, but when Charles' eyes shifted from black to a bright, shining blue, Erik hesitated. 

“Help me forget.” All at once Charles seemed small and human underneath him, a slight tremor in his voice. “All of the pain, all of the fear, just...take it away, Erik. Please.” 

Erik brushed their mouths together, feather light and full of promise, and then Charles' fingers were tangling in his hair, arms folding against the back of his neck in a hard, crushing embrace. 

“Don't you dare treat me like I'm fragile,” a breathless, snarling command into Erik's ear. “Kiss me like you mean it, darling.” 

His eyes found Erik's once more, now a familiar, inky black, and Erik did exactly as his lover demanded without another thought. 

~

“I don't want to go back.” Charles was back in Emma's office, knees pulled up to his chest in the chair. He rested his cheek on one knee, refusing to look at her. “It was supposed to be my space. Mine. And you let her invade it, invade me, and I--” his voice cracked, and he tried again. “I can't trust you. I can't trust anyone anymore, except him.”

Emma took a deep breath before answering. “You're right. I should have done more to protect you. I was hoping she would be dissuaded if I made you unavailable, but obviously an extra two months wasn't enough.” 

“You knew.” Charles lifted his head to face her properly. “You knew the entire time, and you just let her have me.” 

“Charles--” 

“You didn't even have the decency to tell me, so I could do something about it! You just sat back and watched while I was helpless!” 

“We caught her, didn't we?” Emma swivelled her computer monitor around to reveal a live feed of Selene herself, features obscured beneath a heavy black cloak as she paced the length of her warded cage. Even in stocking feet, her head nearly grazed its ceiling. “She can't hurt you anymore.” 

“For now,” Charles grumbled, and Selene glanced up as though she'd heard him, before continuing her pacing. 

“Look, you're too valuable an asset for us to lose.” 

“Not too valuable to give to a memory stealing vampire.” 

“I've been cleared to agree to whatever terms will get you back to work.” 

Charles sat up straight, crossing one leg over the other as he tapped one finger to his chin. “You must be desperate. How many other telepaths did she ruin on you?” 

“Out with it, Charles. What do you want?” 

“I want to be the first to know when she gets out, or when anything else is after me. No more lies, no more secrets.” 

Emma nodded. “That's fair.” 

“And I want my freedom.” 

“We can renegotiate--” 

“No.” Charles cut her off with a wave of his hand. “No more contracts, no more rules. Either I come and go as I please, or I don't come back at all.” 

Emma cocked her head, evidently communicating with the powers that be, before responding. “Done.” 

Charles blinked. “That was quick.” 

“I told you, you're the best telepath we've got, and your reputation has spread among the demons and the damned alike. That kind of creeping fear, the very idea of a wayward soul being sent to you for punishment...it's done wonders for our productivity. Also,” she admitted, “Thanks to Selene, I am, in fact, running very low on psychics.” 

Charles wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Hell is so disgustingly bureaucratic. It's not like we even have an economy down here.” 

“That's true,” Emma conceded, “but there's always the possibility of making one's afterlife just a little less miserable, like you're doing right now. Eternity is what you make of it, after all.” 

Charles shrugged. “I've never been very good with time. Are we done here?” 

Emma snapped her fingers, and a sheet of parchment appeared on the desk. 

“I said no more contracts.” 

“You know how this works. Sign it, and everything you want will be yours.” 

Charles eyed her warily. “No hidden clauses?” 

“Only the terms of your employment. For example, you can't just drop your responsibilities to run off with your boyfriend,” She tapped a manicured nail just above a list of occupational duties. “We expect souls tortured, deals made and kept, new telepaths recruited. No slacking off just because you have free reign.” 

“Boring.” Charles sank pointed canine into the pad of his thumb and pressed it onto the signature line, then stood and stretched, cracking his neck and spine. “I'm going to my room now, but only because all this sitting around has worked up an appetite.” 

“You're insatiable.” 

Charles only laughed and skipped past the Cuckoo waiting by the door. “You' have no idea.” 

~

**Year 53**

It had been two months and eleven days since Erik had dropped Charles off in Hell, Erik was certain of that. After decades of deals and contracts, of counting the hours until he could see Charles, of collecting souls at the exact minute they were due, Erik's internal clock was infallible. Which was why he definitely did not expect Charles to appear between him and a prospective “client,” throwing his arms around Erik's neck and nearly knocking them both to the ground. 

“Charles, what are you—mm--” He was cut off midsentence as Charles kissed him, fierce and unyielding, leaving them both gasping for air. 

“Did you miss me?” Charles was practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Obviously.” 

“Did I surprise you?” 

Erik huffed out a short laugh. “You know you did. What's this about?” 

Charles' smile widened. “I'm free. Really free this time, not just a few months a year. It was Emma's way of apologizing for the whole Selene debacle.” 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Well, I still have to do my job. Jobs,” he corrected. “Crossroads and psychic torture. And you might still have to pick me up once in awhile. You know I have no grasp on time. Which reminds me!” 

“Hold that thought.” Erik disentangled himself from Charles' embrace ad approached the young man with whom he'd been dealing. “Close your mouth, you look like a fish out of water.” 

The human complied, eyes flicking between the pair of demons before him. “Maybe I should just...” 

“Finish what you started? I agree.” 

“Who's that?” 

“Don't worry about him. Do you want the deal or not?” 

“I...yes.” 

“Great.” Erik kissed him once, quickly, and waved him off. “See you in ten years.” 

“Don't I need to sign something?” 

“You just did.” Erik turned back to Charles, who had been amusing himself by rifling through Erik's recent memories. 

“It really hasn't been very long, has it? I think I lie coming up earlier. It feels good.” 

“What did you want to tell me?” Erik gently nudged Charles out of his mind and back into Charles' own. 

“Right. The stars.” He rocked back and forth on his heels as he spoke. “I locked my memories away in the stars, and I need you to help me put them back in the right order. If I just start opening them up, I'll get distracted, and then it'll be a mess. But if you help me, maybe I'll be a little less...” 

“Manic?” Erik supplied, only half joking. 

“Fractured,” Charles finished. “But that too, maybe. Who knows? That's why I need you.” 

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Erik laced their fingers together and materialized them both to their usual rooftop. “Lets get started.” 

~

Later, lying together on a blanket under the stars, Charles rolled over onto his stomach, distracted by the empty flowerbeds and tarp covered benches. “Didn't they renovate this ages ago?” 

“They did,” Erik confirmed, visibly pleased that Charles was remembering things again. “But winter's coming, so everything has been either covered or stored away.” 

“I haven't spent a winter up here, have I?” 

“Not really. That was the deal with the Persephone contract. She always spent her winters with Hades.” 

“But I can be here whenever I want now.” Charles propped himself up on his elbows, looking sideways at Erik. “Even in the winter.” 

“That's right.” 

Charles hummed in amusement. “You're always so serious. And I can tell when you're worried about me, which is pretty much all the time, but especially now.” 

“I can't help it.” Erik shifted onto his side to look at him. “In my experience, when things start going too well, something bad's going to come along and ruin it.” 

“Yeah? Well not this time.” He trailed two fingers along Erik's jawline with uncharacteristic tenderness. “Selene's in her cage. I have my memories, properly organized and accounted for, and I'm better than I've ever been. Not to mention, I'm free! No more of this Persephone nonsense. We're together now, the way we should have always been.” 

“I know, but...” 

“No buts,” Charles' left eye twitched almost imperceptibly. “You've always taken care of me. Let me do something for you this time.” He reached into Erik's mind, smoothing over the innate concern and anxiety that Erik couldn't seem to relinquish, and Erik flinched, hand lying to his forehead. 

“What are you doing to me?” 

“Ssh, it's alright,” Charles soothed. “I'm not taking anything away. It's just an extra dose of serotonin, and maybe a tiny little bit of suggestion to help chase away all that doom and gloom.”

Erik shivered, the weight in his chest lifting as he closed his eyes and succumbed to Charles' ministrations. When he opened them again, he found Charles watching him expectantly. 

“Well?” 

He sat up slowly, automatically reaching for Charles' hand. He must have gotten distracted, because he couldn't quite remember what they'd been talking about. “What were you saying before? Something about wintertime?” 

Charles sat up next to him and lightly squeezed his hand. “Nothing important, darling. Now come one, let's go have a little fun.” 

~

**Year 56**

Charles loved his job. He loved the screams of the damned when he shoved them headfirst into their deepest, darkest fears, the memories of bloodlust and carnage that decorated his panelled walls, the absolutely absurd positions into which he could contort the human body. But all good things had to come to an end, and Charles was beginning to feel as though he'd been working for longer than usual. 

“What do you think, my friend? Have I been down here too long?” He nudged his current victim with his toes, but they didn't so much as twitch in response. _Emma?_

_What is it, Charles?”_

He glanced around him at the memories strewn about his walls, letting them flicker out one by one. _How long has it been since I was last upstairs? In their time, not ours._

_Just over six months,_ came the telepathic response. _Why?_

_I feel like Erik should have been here by now._ The final image faded out, and Charles sighed. _What's taking him so long?_

_Why don't you stop sulking and go ask him yourself?_

“That's right,” Charles said aloud. “I don't have to wait for him anymore.” He raised two fingers to his temple, more out of habit than necessity, to reach for Erik's mind, and found...nothing. “Why can't I reach you? I can always find you.” He tried again, concentrating harder, but was met with silence. 

“No, no, no,” Charles materialized to their apartment, to the roof, to the Hellfire Club, already aware that the search was futile. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Azazel stood at the top of the staircase, eyeing Charles warily, and Charles was on him faster than Azazel could blink, fingers closing around his throat and forcing him back against the adjacent wall. 

“Where is he?” He tore into Azazel's mind without mercy, but Azazel didn't know anything. He never knew anything important. Charles released him, oblivious to the other demon's demands for an explanation.

“Useless.” He dematerialized once more, headed for the only other place that he knew could help him. 

~

It was near sunrise when Charles entered the mansion, not trusting himself to dematerialize safely inside. This house had been destroyed and rebuilt so many times that he didn't dare assume everything was still in its rightful place. Instead, he used the side door that opened into the kitchen, the one the students used to sneak out to have bonfires in the woods, and wasted no time finding an elevator that would take him down to the sublevels. The hallways were all identical down here, but he could always sense Cerebro's presence, like an old friend whispering his name--

“Hey!” The voice behind him belonged to the Pryde girl, the one who walked through walls, that of course had followed him down here, intangible and undetectable. “What are you doing down here?” 

_Sleep._

He barely registered the dull thud of her body slumping to the floor as he approached a large, round steel door, retinal scanner glinting at its centre. Charles stepped forward, willing his eyes back to their original blue just long enough to confirm his identity. The doors slid open with a flat, computerized greeting. 

“Welcome, professor.” 

Charles crossed the catwalk to the helmet waiting for him on the circular circular platform at its end, grateful that his security protocols had never been overwritten after his death. After all, why would they need to protect Cerebro from a corpse? 

“Hello, old friend,” he murmured, fingertips tracing the network of thick, metal tubing that connected Cerebro to its controls and, by extension, the surrounding, spherical space. 

He fitted the helmet over his head, revelling in the way its curves perfectly contoured his skull like it was made for him and no one else. Charles had spent a lot of time here locating mutants when he was alive, and that was exactly how he planned to use Cerebro now. He reached forward and pressed a few buttons, gasping as the room fell away and left him standing in an endless blank void. 

“Okay,” he told himself. “Breathe. Find him.” 

There was a growing fog threading through his legs, wisping through the emptiness and blurring his vision, and then a cacophony of voices assailed him, too many, he didn't want this, had to block them out, couldn't focus--

“Stop!” White, featureless void surrounded him once more. “Again. Focus. I can do this. Come on Erik, where are you? Help me find you.” 

Breathe in, breathe out. Erik's mouth on his, the taste of blood and champagne. In, out. Erik's arms around him, safe and warm and real. In, out. Fingers intertwined, a promise, a connection, stronger than blood, stronger than death itself. They were always meant to find each other..

Charles' eyes snapped open. “Found you.” 

~

“All you have to do is let me go, and I'll return the favour.” 

“No,” Erik replied, for the fourth time that night. “I don't think I will.” He was sitting, cross legged, in the middle of a devil's trap, painted hastily onto worn hardwood flooring. There were a few modifications, Erik had noted on his initial capture, meant to neutralize mutants as well as demons. It seemed his jailer had done his homework. 

“Then you can sit here and rot!” Warren Worthington stalked away from him, wings ruffling in annoyance, before pivoting to glare at Erik. “Is this how you want to spend eternity? Trapped in a cottage in the middle of nowhere?” 

“I have eternity. You don't.” Erik remembered every detail of their deal, the blood pouring from jagged wounds on Warren's back, his desperation to touch the sky once more. And now here he was ten years later, attempting to cheat death all over again. “You're only prolonging the inevitable.” 

“Is that so?” Warren ran a trembling hand through his thick, golden hair. “Because the longer you stay in here, the longer I get to keep my wings.” 

“And what good has that done you?” A soft, insistent tug in the back of Erik's mind. “You've done nothing but pace around this overly indulgent lake house for months.” 

“But you could set us both free,” Warren insisted. “If you would just break our deal.” 

It was so close, like a word on the tip of Erik's tongue, just the lightest brush of another mind against his own. “I told you, that's not how it works.” 

“Then make it work.” 

_Found you._

A slow smile tugged at the corners of Erik's mouth and he stood, buttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. “I believe our time is up, Mr. Worthington.” 

As if on cue, Charles materialized between them, sidestepping the devil's trap and wrapping his slender fingers around Warren's neck. 

“Break the trap.” The command was level and calm, almost monotone. 

Warren only laughed. “You can't kill me. I made a deal.” 

Charles whirled to face Erik, claws digging into Warren's flesh, and Erik nodded in affirmation. “He's overdue.” 

“I wonder why.” His upper lip curled as he forced Warren to his knees before the trap. “Break. The trap.” 

Warren's eyes dulled, features smooth and expressionless, and he obediently rubbed away a section of the outer circle. 

“Good boy.” Charles moved in as though to haul the mutant to his feet, but instead braced one hand against his shoulder and used the other to rip his right wing clean off. Warren screamed, high and wailing, his lament coloured more by grief than pain, but Charles didn't react. He tossed the wing to one side before reaching for the other, and Warren cried out again, tears streaming down his face. 

As Charles crouched before him, the second wing balanced across his knees, the screams receded into low, moaning whimper, a mantra of agony while Charles idly plucked feather after feather and let them drift to the floor. 

“Was it worth it?” he asked, black, starless eyes boring into Warren's unfocused, bloodshot gaze. “Did you get what you wanted, little angel?” He raised two fingers to Warren's shoulder and pushed, causing Warren to tip over sideways, curling into a fetal position. Satisfied, stood, discarding the second wing with the first. “Looks to me like Icarus flew too close to the sun.” 

Erik only watched, fascinated, while Charles ripped into Warren's mind, the selfish, overconfident rich boy now reduced to a blithering mess at Charles' feet, until Warren spasmed on final time and went still.

“Charles.” 

“I'm not finished.” 

“Charles, my love,” Erik pressed a kiss to the space just behind Charles' ear. “I still need to collect his soul.” 

“He took you away from me. He has to pay.” 

“He has. And he will.” Erik knelt down next to Warren's prone form and glanced up at Charles. “You don't want too be in there when I do this.” 

Charles blinked, coming back to himself, and as quickly as he left Warren's mind he was inside Erik's, wrapping himself in the familiarity of his lover's thoughts like a warm embrace. Erik didn't resist the intrusion, giving Charles free reign while he thrust a clawed hand into his victim's chest to retrieve the heart within. This time it was Charles' turn to watch, partly through Erik's perspective and partly through his own, while Erik made a quick meal of the organ before taking Charles in his arms. 

“Hungry?” Charles inquired, taking Erik's hand the lick the blood from his fingers. 

“Famished. It's been months.” 

“Now you know how I feel all the time.” He snuggled closer, resting his cheek against Erik's chest. “I missed you. I couldn't feel you here--” two fingers to his temple-- “or here.” a hand over his heart. “I thought I'd lost you.” 

“Hey.” Charles lifted his head, and Erik kissed him soundly, stealing the breath from his lungs and smiling against Charles' mouth as he felt him relax. “Eternity, remember? You think a few months in a badly drawn pentagram will keep us apart?” 

“No.” 

“Good. Now lets get out of here. I'm way behind schedule thanks to this self entitled asshole. Want to help?” 

“I could eat.” 

“You could always eat.” 

Charles only grinned up at him. “You're not wrong.”


End file.
